A NEW SOLACE
On her way home Aun' Sheba shook her head more than once in perplexity and
disapprobation over what she had heard. She had the freedom of speech of
an old family servant who had never been harshly repressed even when a
slave, and now was added the fearlessness of a free woman. Her affection
for Mara was so strong that in her ignorance she shared in some of the
girl's prejudices against the North, but not in her antipathy. The thought
that Clancy had waned in his regard or that he could even think of a
Northern girl after having "kep' company" with Mara, had been
exasperating, but now Aun' Sheba began to suspect that the estrangement
was not wholly his fault. "She set agin him by his gwine Norf an' his
habin' to do wid de folks dat she an' ole Missus hates. Doan see why he is
mad at me 'bout it. Reckon he's mad anyhow an' can't speak peac'ble to
nobody. Well, I likes him a heap betteh in dat view ob de case an' he kin
glower at me all he please 'long as he ain't 'sertin' young Missy case she
is po'. Couldn't stan' dat no how. He's willin' an' she ain't, an' dat wat
she mean by sayin' 'No, Owen Clancy, nebbeh.' She won't lis'n to him kase
he doan hate de Norf like pizen. Now dat is foolishness, an' she's sot up
to it by de ole Missus. De Norf does as well as it know how. To be sure,
it ain't quality like young Missy, but it buy de cotton an' it got de
po'r. Wat's mo', it gib me a chance to wuck fer mysef. I would do as much
fer young Missy as eber. I'd wuck my fingers off fer her, but I likes ter
do it like white folks, kase I lub her. She orten' be so hard on young
Clancy. He got his way ter make and dere'd be no good in his buttin' his
head agin a wall. Tings am as dey is, an' I'm glad dey is as dey am. Dey's
a long sight betteh fer cullud folks and white folks too, ef dey's a min'
ter pull wid de curren' sted ob agin it. Massa Clancy's no fool. He know
dis. He los' his pa an his prop'ty too, but he know betteh dan to go on
hatin' fereber. Dey can't spec' me to uphole dem in dis fer it agin de
Scripter an' my feelin's. Ole Missus bery 'ligious. She dun fergit wat de
words mean she say ebry Sunday, But den, wot de use ob callin' ole Missus
to 'count. She neber could see ony her side ob de question. It don make
any dif'ence to her how many widers dere is in de Norf an' she hab jes
dinged her 'pinions inter young Missy eber sence she was bawn. I'se glad
ter do fer dem long as I lib, but I'se gwine ter speak my min' too."
With such surmises and self-communings she reached her home and found
Uncle Sheba asleep in his chair and the fire out. She nodded at him
ominously and muttered, "I gib him anuder lesson." Slipping quietly into
the bedroom, she bolted the door, and, unrelenting to all remonstrances
left him to get through the night as well as he could in his chair. The
result justified the wisdom of the means employed, for thereafter Uncle
Sheba always had a good fire when she returned.
Aun' Sheba had correctly interpreted the ellipsis suggested by Mara's
passionate utterance. The scenes called up by her old nurse's words and
rendered vivid by a strong imagination again presented themselves as an
impassable barrier between herself and her lover unless he should feel
their significance as she did. As a woman her heart was always pleading
for him, but when strongly excited by the story of the past her anger
flamed that he should even imagine that she would continue her regard for
him. Indeed she wondered and was almost enraged at herself that she could
not at once blot out his image and dismiss him from her thoughts when he
was taking the course of all others most repugnant to her. At such moments
she could easily believe that all was over between them, but with quiet
persistence her heart knew better, and preferred love to enmities and sad
memories.
Moreover, passionate as had been her mood there was a hard, homely
common-sense in her old nurse's words, "Reckon de wah's ober an' wat you
gwine ter do wid de Lawd's prar?" that quenched her fire like cold water.
No one can be in a false position, out of harmony with normal laws and
principles, without meeting spiritual jars. Mara was too young and too
intelligent not to recognize the difficulties in maintaining her position,
but she believed sincerely that the circumstances of her lot justified
this position and made it the only honorable one for her. Northerners were
to her what the Philistines were to the ancient Hebrews, the hereditary
foes from which she had suffered the chief ills of her life. To compromise
with them was to compromise with evil, and therefore she was always able
to reason away the significance of all words like those of Aun' Sheba,
although for the moment they troubled her.
Mrs. Hunter, however, had long since been incapable of doubts or
compunctions. She tolerated Aun' Sheba's outspokenness as she would that
of a child or a slave babbling of matters far above her comprehension.
The day marked a change in Mara's policy and action, and these led to some
very important experiences. A false pride had at first prompted, or at
least induced her to acquiesce in secrecy; now an honest pride led her to
openness in all her efforts to obtain a livelihood. She would volunteer no
information, but would simply go on in an unhesitating manner, let the
consequences be what they might.
They soon began to take a surprisingly agreeable form, for the quick warm
sympathies of the Southern people were touched. Here was a young girl, the
representative of one of the oldest and best families, seeking quietly and
unostentatiously to support herself and her aged aunt. There had been
scores of people who would gladly have offered her assistance, but they
had respected her reticence in regard to her affairs as jealously as they
guarded the condition of their own. Frank in the extreme with each other
in most respects, there was an impoverished class in the city who would
suffer much rather than reveal pecuniary need or accept the slightest
approach to charity. Poverty was no reproach among these families that had
once enjoyed wealth in abundance. Indeed it was rather like a badge of
honor, for it indicated sacrifice for the "lost cause" and an unreadiness
for thrifty compacts and dealings with those hostile to that cause. In the
class to which Mara belonged, therefore, she gained rather than lost in
social consideration, and especial pains were taken to assure her of this
fact.
Those in whose veins, even in Mrs. Hunter's estimation, flowed the oldest
and bluest blood, called more frequently and spoke words of cheer and
encouragement. That good lady, in a rich but antiquated gown, received the
guests and was voluble in Mara's praises and in lamentation over the
wrongs of the past. The majority were sympathetic listeners, but all were
glad that the girl could do and was willing to do something more than
complain. To their credit it should be said that they were ready to do
more than sympathize, for even the most straitened found that they could
spare something for Mara's cake, and Aun' Sheba's basket began to be
emptied more than once every day. Orders were given also, and the young
girl had all she could do to keep up with the growing demand.
It was well for her that each day brought its regular work, and its close
found her too weary for the brooding so often the bane of idleness. Yet,
in spite of all that was encouraging, the cheering words spoken to her,
the elation of Aun' Sheba and the excitement resulting from her humble
prosperity, she was ever conscious of a dull ache at heart. Clancy had
gone North for an indefinite absence, and it looked as if their separation
were final. In vain she assured herself that it was best that they should
not meet again until both were satisfied that their paths led apart. She
knew that she had hoped his path would come back to hers--that in secret
she hoped this still, with a pathetic persistence which defied all effort.
She believed, however, that such effort was her best resource, for he was
again under the influences she most feared and detested. At times she
reproached herself for having been too reserved, too proud and passionate
in her resentment at his course. He had asked her to convince him of his
error if she could, and she had not only failed to make such effort, but
also had denied him the hope that would have been more than all argument.
Thus, at variance with her heart, she alternated between the two extremes
of anger at his course and regret and compunction at her own. As a rule,
though, her resolute will enabled her to concentrate her thoughts on daily
occupations and immediate interests, and it became her chief aim to so
occupy herself with these interests that no time should be left for
thoughts which now only tended to distress and discourage.
Mara was a girl who consciously would be controlled by a few simple
motives rather than by impulses, circumstances or the influence of others.
We have seen that loyalty, as she understood it, was her chief motive. Her
love for parents she had never seen was profound, and all relating to them
was sacred. To do what she believed would be pleasing to them, what would
now reflect honor upon their memory, was her supreme duty. All other
motives would be dominated by this pre-eminent one and all action guided
by it. She felt that the effort to provide for her aunt, the one remaining
member of her family, and to enable her to spend her remaining days in the
congenial atmosphere of the past, would certainly be in accord with her
parents' wishes. Then by natural sequence her sympathies went out to those
whose fortunes, like her own, had been wrecked by the changes against
which they could interpose only a helpless protest. In various ways she
learned of those of her own class who had been disabled and impoverished,
whose lives were stripped of the embroidery of pleasant little
gratifications only permitted by a surplus of income. It gradually came to
be a cherished solace after the labors of the morning, to carry to the
sick and afflicted, dwelling in homes of faded gentility like her own,
some delicacy made by her own hands. While these were received in the
spirit in which they were brought, the girl's lovely, sympathetic face was
far more welcome, and the orphan began to embody to those of the old
regime the cause for which they all had suffered so much. Within this
limited circle Mara was kindness and gentleness itself, beyond it cold and
unapproachable. Occasionally some, with whom she had no sympathy, sought
to patronize her. They intimated that they were willing to buy lavishily,
but it was also evident that they wished their good-will appreciated and
reciprocated in ways that excited the girl's scorn. In spite of her
poverty and homely work, it was known that she was a favorite in the most
aristocratic circle in the city, and there are always those ready to seek
social recognition in many and devious ways. These pushing people
represented to Mara the Northern element and leaven in the city, and she
soon made it clear that there was an invisible line beyond which they
could not pass. Their orders were either declined or scrupulously filled,
if her time permitted, but with a quiet tact which was inflexible she
warded off every approach which was not purely commercial.